The Fiddler and the Fire-Brand
by Lily F. Lux
Summary: 'And yet, he sometimes wondered where Dan was now, whether he had enough to eat and where he slept at night. Dan was tough, but he was the best and only friend Nat had ever had.' A series of seven vignettes about the unlikely friendship between Plumfield's newest boys: the fiddler and the fire-brand, otherwise known as Nathaniel Blake and Daniel Kean.


**A/N: It's been over 140 years since _Little Men_ was first published, and fanfiction has been around for even longer, so I doubt I'm bringing new cards to the table. All the same, I hope you enjoy my first _Little Men_ story. It's based entirely on the book - I haven't seen any of the movies or TV series except the 1993 anime. One of my favourite characters is Dan, and I find the dynamic between him and Nat fascinating, so here's a small collection of vignettes - missing moments, if you like - on that subject.**

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><p><span>The Fiddler and the Fire-Brand<span>

_'He's a boy I used to know when I fiddled round the streets. He sold papers, and he was kind to me ...' (pg. 55)_

The sun was setting, the November light rapidly fading as Nat picked his way through the uneven streets of the town, too intent on looking at his shoes and feeling sorry for himself to concentrate on anything else. Things had gone downwards ever since Father had become ill - Nat had been forced to fiddle alone, shivering and stumbling over the notes with stiff fingers; and worse still, he seemed to be coming down with something as well. He coughed several times, stifled a sob as tears sprang to his eyes from the pain, and turned the corner into a long, dim alleyway, clutching his fiddle to his side.

'Wouldn't go that way if I were you,' came a rough voice behind him, and Nat turned.

A ragged, black-haired boy, several years older than Nat, was leaning against the wall, half-hidden in the shadows cast by the sun's deep orange glow. His eyes, large and black and determined, caught Nat's gaze and held it, while Nat stood stock-still, too cold to react quickly.

'Lost your tongue?' said the boy, not unkindly. There was something familiar about him, but Nat couldn't place it.

'No - I mean ...' Nat stumbled over the words. 'I always go through here.'

'I know,' said the boy, tipping his head and shrugging his shoulders as if he did not care what happened to Nat, but his words made it obvious that he did. 'But it ain't safe. There's thieves and worse that'll hurt you soon's they see you, and if you yell, the coppers won't care - the neighbours neither.'

This dire warning served to alarm Nat, because, for the better part of a week, he'd been using the alleyway as a shortcut to the place where he and his father stayed. He felt an instant rush of gratitude towards this street-smart saviour, who had appeared out of nowhere to deliver a piece of apparently accurate advice.

'I'm Nat,' he told the boy. 'Nat Blake. And thank you.'

A wild expression flickered briefly across the boy's face, as if taken aback, and for a moment, he looked ready to run. But the look went as quickly as it had come, and instead the boy said gruffly, 'Dan.'

He did not supply a surname, and Nat did not ask for one - he'd always disliked asking people to volunteer information. Not knowing what else to do, he stuck his free hand in his pocket, feeling anxiously for the small treasure contained within. He'd got up early, intent on collecting a tidy sum to take home, but the wages for a sick, undernourished twelve-year-old boy are thin, and his pickings had been few and far between.

Dan followed his gaze. 'Get anything?' he asked, as if he knew what Nat were thinking.

'Not much,' said Nat, sure it was all right to tell the truth. It wasn't as if what he had was worth stealing, and Dan was a head taller than him - if he wanted money, he would have found a way to take it by now.

Dan hesitated, then asked stiffly, 'What happened to the folks you were with?'

'Father's ill,' said Nat, a lump rising in his throat at the reminder. 'And Nicolo won't let me play with him, not when I'm so sick.' Suddenly aware of the requirements of polite conversation, he said, 'Don't you have any folks?'

'No,' said Dan briefly, clearly wanting to drop the subject. His eyes roved over Nat, focusing on the thin frame and weary eyes. In a sharp, decisive movement, he pulled a tied-up handkerchief out of his pocket and tossed it at Nat, who heard the clink of coins as he caught the grubby package. Astonished, he opened his mouth to stammer his thanks, protest even, but Dan just said bluntly, 'Reckon you need it more than I do,' and made to leave.

'Wait!' cried Nat, for something in the way Dan moved finally awakened something in his sluggish mind. 'I know who you are! You sell papers, don't you?'

'Now and again,' muttered Dan, turning again to go.

'But how will I repay you?' pleaded Nat, wanting the money badly but afraid he would be the source of financial trouble for this independent soul. 'You've helped me before, too ...'

'Don't bother.'

'But ...'

'I know where to find you, all right?' And Dan disappeared back around the corner and out of the alleyway so quickly that at first Nat didn't process that he had gone. It was only afterwards that he thought to wonder how Dan had known that he, Nat 'always' used to cut through the alleyway.

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><p><em>'I used to go round fiddling with my father, and another man, till he died ... it was horrid; so cold in winter, and hot in summer. And I got tired, and they were cross sometimes, and I didn't have enough to eat.' (pg. 12)<em>

Nat was a decent sort, a nice enough kid, Dan conceded as he walked away and began to whistle, only realising halfway through that it was the same simple tune that Nat had been playing on his beloved fiddle. Smiling to himself, he tried to look nonchalant, stuffing his hands in his pockets, which reminded him that he was newly bereft of monetary goods. But he didn't regret his hasty actions. Hoarding money had always felt foolish to him; a burden weighing on his mind. His words earlier, however, had been the truth - Nat _had_ looked like he'd needed it most.

Dan kicked at a stone and ducked his head carelessly, trying to get off this irritating subject. As for him, Daniel Kean, he would survive. He always did, always had, ever since his early days on the streets, before he'd got tossed in the poorhouse -

Instantly, he cut off that train of thought, swearing under his breath. He never looked back on his short time in the poorhouse if he could help it. His mind jumped back to the last comfortable topic - Nat, and his blue eyes and thin, timid face that had caused Dan to look out for him, make sure he stayed out of danger ...

Dan had first seen Nat several weeks before, when the latter first came into town with two grown-up men, one his father and one not. Dan, a nearly empty bag over his shoulder, had been in the middle of selling papers, but something compelled him to stop and listen to the three fiddlers play out the merry tunes that made one forget the miserable conditions of homelessness and poverty. But it was Nat he was most interested in, the small boy that looked hungry and fatigued, yet delighted to be able to play such wonderful music. When the song was over and one of the two men was passing his hat around for change, Dan seized the opportunity to approach Nat, who looked almost faint with effort.

'Here,' he said quietly, taking one of Nat's hands and shoving a piece of bread in it. The whole thing had been on the spur of the moment, and he certainly hadn't meant to linger, but Nat caught the large, calloused hand in his own and looked up at Dan with such wide, astonished eyes that Dan felt trapped and fled from the scene, ignoring any and all who called after him.

It had been a brief, impulsive meeting - they hadn't even exchanged names, and Dan's face had been hidden by his cap - but he remembered Nat's smile of surprise and gratitude long after the incident occurred. It stuck with him like bruises after a fight, only they disappeared quickly, while this remained, almost taunting him.

The world had always been a cruel, harsh place for Dan - every man for himself, and he had learnt to stick by that creed or pay the price. But this was different. For the first time, he'd encountered someone who could made him change his independent, ignorant way of thinking, all without saying a word.

It had become habit after that, natural for Dan to watch out for Nat, to keep an eye on him and guard him from trouble without Nat knowing. In some logical part of his mind that ignored impulse and compassion, he reasoned that it was stupid. Nat had probably forgotten all about the bread, anyway - the moment had been fleeting ...

But their first proper meeting had disproved that. _'You've helped me before, too ...'_ Nat had remembered, and had remained grateful, and Dan's boyish heart, shut tight by a lifetime of abuse and neglect, opened a little when he recalled the words. If someone had asked, he would have found it impossible, even if he'd cared to try, to say why he felt drawn to Nat, of all people. It was the same thing, later on, that would draw Mrs Jo to her black sheep, her 'fire-brand' - something called _love_, which has accounted for many unlikely friendships throughout history.

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><p><em>'I don't know anything, only that he hasn't got any folks, and he's poor, and he was good to me, so I'd like to be good to him if I could ...' (pg. 55)<em>

It was January now, mid-winter, and the last week had been one long nightmare, brought to a sudden and foreseen, though no less painful, end on the final day when he'd been woken early a dreadful feeling in his stomach. Nicolo proceeded to break the news to him - Nat's father was dead, and Nat would be alone from now on, for he would no longer have his little fiddle, and Nicolo would not travel with him any longer, all because Nat was sick and could not stop coughing.

He was huddled in a damp cellar, feeling acutely the pain of losing his father and his fiddle, when he heard a creak from the entrance, and a shadow fell over his face. Whoever it was had not bothered to knock, but Nat did not even have the energy to jump up and defend himself.

'Wondered what happened to you,' said the intruder, but Nat knew that voice. He looked up and saw Dan, face half-hidden by his cap. Relief washed over him.

'Dan!'

It was hard to tell in the dim light, but Dan appeared pleased at being recognised. Towering over Nat, he scuffed his shoes on the floor of the cellar and muttered, 'Where's your fiddle?'

'Nicolo took it,' answered Nat, a lump rising in his throat at the memory.

'Shame,' was the reply. 'You played the best.' Ducking his head as if embarrassed to be paying a compliment, Dan fished in his pocket and produced a slightly squashed bread roll.

'I - I couldn't,' Nat stammered, shying away even as his eyes widened with longing. Once was fine, twice even, but three times was too much. This was charity, and he couldn't accept it.

'Don't be a fool,' snapped Dan. 'You look half starved.'

'But what about you?' Nat asked, for Dan, though tall and strong, did not look the epitome of health himself.

'I'll manage.'

Pride gave way to hunger and Nat took the bread, but instead of saving it for later, he tore it in two and handed one piece back to Dan. 'We'll share,' he said virtuously, for he _was_ very hungry.

Dan was about to refuse, but succumbed to the pleading in Nat's eyes. He sat down next to Nat, waiting until the smaller boy had taken a bite before eating of his accord.

After that day, Dan's arrivals were sporadic and unannounced, but he always brought with him food or money - small, but appreciated all the same. There was one time when he did not appear for five days in a row, and Nat worried, but he need not have, for Dan showed up the next day as if he'd never been gone. Nat had thought his own existence was a pitiful one, but the pain and longing was lessened somewhat because of Dan's friendship.

Until one spring day, when he met a kind-hearted gentleman called Mr Laurence, who sent Nat on his way to a mysterious and wonderful school called Plumfield. Plumfield had everything he could have dreamt of - warmth, comfort and a fiddle to play - and Mrs Jo and Professor Bhaer provided all the love and safety his hungry soul lacked. And yet, he sometimes wondered where Dan was now, whether he had enough to eat and where he slept at night. Dan was tough, but he was the best and only friend Nat had ever had. If he ever got the chance, he would find a way to repay Dan, to thank him for taking care of him - how, he didn't know.

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><p><em>'I saw him the other day in town, and told him how nice it was here, and he's come.' (pg. 55)<em>

It was a number of weeks before Nat saw Dan again. When he did, it was on a trip to town with Mr Laurie - the same kind Mr Laurie who had first invited him to Plumfield. Mr Laurie had vanished for a bit, telling him not to stray too far, and Nat had been busy admiring the outfits of passers-by and marvelling how different the town looked in fine weather, when he caught sight of a familiar gingham jacket. Excitement overwhelmed him, and for a moment he couldn't move. He resisted dashing up to his friend and hugging him - Dan always shied away from physical contact - but instead called out, 'Dan!'

Dan turned reflexively, so startled, yet pleased, that Nat bypassed formality and ran to meet him.

'Oh, Dan!' he breathed. 'I thought ... I thought ...'

Dan said nothing. He stuck his hand in his pocket, but withdrew it quickly, adding carelessly, 'Guess you don't need it anymore.'

'It's not about the money,' Nat burst out, aghast that Dan could think they were only friends for that sake. 'It's never been.'

'Cleaned up some, I reckon,' said Dan, not listening. He was looking Nat over with something akin to envy in his eyes, though it quickly disappeared. 'What gives?'

Nat took a deep breath, and out tumbled the story of Mr Laurie and the letter, and Plumfield, and the Bhaers, and the other boys and Daisy ...

'Are they a good lot?' enquired Dan.

'The best,' said Nat enthusiastically, his usual shyness melting away as a new idea struck him. 'Dan, _you_ should come to Plumfield! I bet they'd love to have you - Mother Bhaer and Father Bhaer -'

'It's different ... I'm not like you ...' began Dan haltingly, but Nat wouldn't let him finish.

'Mother Bhaer _wants_ to have poor boys come and live there, so she can bring them up herself -'

'Don't need anyone to bring me up.'

'Oh, Dan, _please_ come,' implored Nat. 'It's just perfect at Plumfield ... well, almost perfect, 'cause you aren't there ...'

'Don't know,' said Dan uneasily, with the air of one suffering under the burden a booked schedule. But when he saw the disappointment on Nat's face, he added, 'Might come anyway - just to see what it's like, you know.'

'Would you?'

'Said so, didn't I?' But he didn't sound cross at Nat for pressing the point, the way he usually did when someone tried to make up his mind for him or make him do something he didn't want to do. Nat decided to drop it, and the two of them spent a few more minutes talking, until Mr Laurie came and whisked Nat away, Dan having vanished as soon as he caught wind of adult company.

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><p><em>'"You come off with me, and I'll show you round," said Nat, feeling that he must have a little serious conversation with his friend in private.<em>

_ 'What passed between them no one knew, but when they appeared again, Dan was more respectful to everyone, though still gruff in his speech and rough in his manner; and what else could be expected of the poor lad who had been knocking about the world all his short life with no one to teach him any better?' (pg. 58)_

Nat and Dan had only gone a short way from the barn when Dan said gruffly, 'Maybe I shouldn't have come.'

Nat was glad for this remark in one respect, for though he liked Dan very much, and would be forever thankful to him for past kindness, he felt uneasy about his friend antagonising the other boys. However, now that Dan had breached the topic himself, Nat felt ready to tackle the job and confront Dan about it.

'Don't say that,' he said, with a boldness unusual to him. 'They'd be ever so nice to you, if you'd only let them.'

'You wish!' But there was an edge lacking to the words, as if Dan already regretted his hostility.

'I do. Mother Bhaer said you could stay for a few days, but if you don't behave, they'll send you away; I'm sure of it.'

This was the wrong thing to say.

'Guess they want an excuse to get rid of me, then.'

'Mother Bhaer wouldn't. Please, Dan, they _are_ a nice lot. Why, Daisy's sweet, Franz is jolly at lessons and Tommy made me his partner.'

'How so?' said Dan warily, focusing on this last statement, as he had not met either Daisy or Franz.

'I collect eggs for him, and he gives me one for every dozen. Dan, _please_ ...'

'Oh, all right,' growled Dan. 'If it bothers you.' He did not say any more, but all witnessed the change in him after that conversation, for, as a tribute to his friendship with Nat, he made an effort to be more patient and respectful concerning the other boys, though his attitude towards adults still left a lot to be desired.

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><p><em>'Nat followed him about like a shadow, and Dan did not repulse him as rudely as he did others, but said, in his blunt way, "<em>You_ are all right; don't worry about me. I can stand it better than you did."' (pg. 143)_

If it had been bad when Nat had been accused of a crime which he had not committed, it was a thousand times worse to see brave Dan disgraced like this. Nat could not pretend that nothing had happened, and tried in vain to talk to his friend, to keep him company, but Dan shunted him away.

Not for the first time, Nat wondered if Dan realised the further consequences his actions had triggered - Mother Bhaer's worrying, for instance, or Father Bhaer's sorrowful looks, or Teddy's puzzled questions. It also was curious how Dan would not say a word in his own defence, to the point of barely saying a word at all. Of course, he had never been the talkative type, but this was simply unsettling. The only thing he seemed concerned about was Nat's wellbeing.

Father Bhaer had forbidden talk of the entire matter, but Nat couldn't think of anything else, though he made sure not to voice his musings, taking his cue from Ned's pestering. But suppose ... suppose Dan _had_ taken the money, after all?

_'I don't think you would. You like to fight and knock folks round sometimes, but you don't lie, and I don't believe you'd steal.'_

_ 'I've done both. I used to fib like fury; it's too much trouble now; and I stole things to eat out of gardens when I ran away from Page, so you see I _am_ a bad lot.'_

With a pang, Nat remembered the food and money that Dan had produced while taking care of him on the streets. Had that been stolen, too?

No. He _couldn't_ believe that Dan had taken Tommy's money. There had to be another explanation, he told himself - but what possible one could there be, when Dan himself had returned the money and made it clear that he was to blame? Regardless, he, Nat, was Dan's friend. Friends stuck together through thick and thin; Dan's actions had always taught him that much. It didn't matter what Dan had or hadn't done - what mattered was that Nat was there to talk to if needed. Though Dan often went for long tramps about the fields and woods, rejecting all company, Nat knew that the older boy was lonely, even if he didn't show it. Miserably, Nat kept silent about it all, even though he wanted nothing more than for the whole convoluted business to be over and done away with.

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><p><em>'Honesty and honour had a new meaning now; a good nature was more precious than gold; for, once lost, money could not buy it back; and faith in one another made life smooth and happy as nothing else could do.' (pg. 146)<em>

After lessons on that fateful day, before which the thief had been revealed and Dan cleared of all suspicion, the boys dispersed to various activities - fishing, cricket and such - but Dan took off for the woods, Nat by his side. They roamed 'over hill and over dale', hardly talking, but simply glad that the whole ordeal was over, so they could continue, assured of the strength of their friendship.

Nat was so happy he thought he might explode, but there was something he had to do before the day proceeded much further. He stopped short at the fence just before the woods and lifted his eyes to Dan's own, saying 'Thank you' very softly. It wasn't just thanks for the recent sacrifice, but gratitude for everything Dan had done for him, from the bread to the company to the friendship.

'Come on, old fellow,' said Dan bracingly, after a pause, but there was something in his tone that told Nat he understood. He vaulted the fence in one bound and waited for Nat to climb over before adding, 'There's something I want to show you.'


End file.
